


Smoke, Musk, and Jasmine

by sofreakinmanyfandoms



Category: The Bronze (2015)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Reader, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, F/M, Gymnastics, Language, Mutual Pining, Omega!Lance, possible eventual NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-28 02:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofreakinmanyfandoms/pseuds/sofreakinmanyfandoms
Summary: If Lance Tucker were an alpha, he wouldn't be keeping his orientation a secret, you were sure of that. He was arrogant enough, though, that you were sure he'd be ashamed of being a beta, of being "normal."Male omegas are rare. Female alphas, even more so. So of course he assumes you're either a beta or an omega. Hell, you assumed he was beta until you stumbled on him without his patch....No update schedule, sorry. This one is worked on as inspiration hits. Also, I have no idea how long it will end up being.





	1. Omega

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why, but this fic idea has grabbed me and will not let go. Therefore, it has begun.
> 
> Please leave feedback! I'd love to know how I can improve.

You groaned and gritted your teeth, hating your suppressants even as you were grateful for them. It was the middle of the first full day of your rut, and while the suppressants kept you functional, you still craved the sweet scent of an omega enough to make you wildly uncomfortable. Despite your currently over-alert sense of smell however, there was no omega scent to be found thanks to the patches everyone wore.

The patches – another thing you both loathed and were thankful for. Thirty-some years ago, a beta scientist had said enough is enough when it came to people judging others for their orientations and created a patch that went over the scent gland and neutralized all pheromones, eliminating the normal way of determining a stranger’s orientation. You were part of the first and so far only generation that was born and grew up with the patch being mandatory for all orientations to participate in many job spheres (although not all; some jobs still had a distinct benefit to be had by having an alpha or omega orientation known). There were advantages for sure, in that no one’s orientation could be used against them to keep them from succeeding; from your observation, though, it had also made talking openly about orientations a taboo subject, which hurt everyone in the long run. Stereotypes still persisted, and “coming out” when one wasn’t in a field that was typically welcoming to one’s orientation could result in a serious backlash of hatred.

While the field of athletics held nothing against alphas – the opposite, in fact – you still kept your orientation a secret. If you came out, many people would assume you were naturally skilled and won as often as you did because you were an alpha, not because of all the time and hard work you had put into training and working on your routines. You were not about to give up the acknowledgment that you worked hard just for a little extra favor from coaches and sponsors.

With a deep breath, you forced your mind to focus and launched into your new balance beam routine. You were one of the top contenders for a spot on the next US women’s gymnastics team, and your coach was determined to push you as far as you could go. The beam was one of your strengths, so the new routine pushed your body and your mind further than any had before.

Your landing was a little shaky, but overall you thought you had done pretty well for only your second time running through the whole thing. Your fellow gymnast didn’t seem to think so.

Lance “The Fucker” Tucker was watching you and snickering. You sighed to yourself and forced your brain to listen to your coach’s feedback. Lance was a stuck-up jerk who was great at what he did and knew it. He never hesitated to criticize anyone who was less than absolutely perfect, and while you knew you were more than just good, your new routines were challenging and you didn’t quite have them down yet, providing him with plenty of fodder for torment.

“You know, Y/L/N,” he smirked, coming up to you once your coach told you to take a break, “it’s okay to admit you’re out of your league with your new routines. I’m sure your coach would understand if you needed something a bit easier.”

“Fuck off, Lance,” you sighed as you ripped open a protein bar. You were the only Olympic contender training at your uncle’s gym who hadn’t let him get under their skin yet, and he seemed to have made it his mission to change that. You weren’t about to give him that satisfaction.

“I know it can be hard to accept you’re that shitty at something you seem to enjoy,” he persisted, following you over to your gym bag where your water and a protein bar were waiting. “It’ll be better for you in the long run, though. You’ll avoid the inevitable mental breakdown and subsequent humiliation.”

“Tucker,” you turned to him, “not even you can do everything. Time to accept that intimidating me is on the list of things you’ll never succeed at.”

“I’ve still got some tricks up my sleeve,” he scoffed.

You cocked an eyebrow at his certainty and smirked. “What are you gonna do, take off your patch and go all alpha on me?”

“I might,” he glowered. “Don’t push it.”

If there were anyone you weren’t concerned about being out-alpha’d by, it was Lance Tucker. Cocky as he was, you were sure there was no way he wouldn’t let his alpha orientation be public knowledge if he were one. Most people seemed to think he was hiding it for the same reason you hid yours, but you were pretty sure you knew the truth: Lance Tucker was a beta and wouldn’t admit it. You couldn’t prove it, of course, but it did keep you from finding him intimidating. Even you had your orientation prejudices, it would seem.

Electing to ignore him, you finished your protein bar and went back to your balance beam. You caught a glimpse of Lance glowering at you from the corner of your eye and smiled as you went back to working on the individual parts of your routine. You wanted to have at least the first twenty seconds down smoothly before you left for the day.

\-----------

You groaned as the hot water hit your body, your sore muscles struggling to relax into the steam. Maybe you had overdone it today in practice. As much as you pretended to ignore him, you had worked twice as hard after Lance’s round of insults. Once he was done with his gymnastics career, he should try coaching; all his trainees would hate him, but his methods were annoyingly effective.

You took your time, lathering every inch of your body and letting the sweat and stress wash down the drain with the suds. As you relaxed, you ran your mind through your routine again and again, committing it to memory so you wouldn’t need to pause during Monday’s practice. You mentally traced your split leap’s transition through to your arabesque, noting form and how long each part should be held. Once you’d run your entire routine five times mentally, you shut off the water and toweled off.

It was Friday, which meant your uncle had taken your young cousins out on one of their little “adventures,” as he called them. It was always your job on Friday to close down the gym, so you took your time getting dressed and putting away equipment.

When you were out of other things to do and couldn’t put it off any longer, you banged on the door to the men’s locker room. It was time for your least favorite part of the day – kicking out the straggler.

“Time’s up, Lance!” you shouted through the door. “You’d better be decent, because I’m coming in!” Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the familiar sight of Lance with his back to you at the row of sinks, working whatever he used that made it always look so perfect through his hair.

“You know, one of these days,” he smirked at you in the mirror, “you’re gonna walk in on me naked. Is that why you always come in? What are you looking for, Y/N? Is the little omega looking for the alpha experience?”

You scoffed at his smug look. “Not gonna happen, fucker, the two of us having sex _or_ you finding out my orientation. Besides, not even you are that slow at getting dressed after practice, and that’s saying something. What do you do, stretch twice? I was the last one out of the women’s room and I got out half an hour ago.”

“So I like my privacy, big deal. I just don’t shower until the other guys have left.”

“Privacy is what the curtains on the shower stalls are for,” you told him with a glare. “Now get your shit together and get out before I throw you out on your ass.”

“Aw, Y/N, I didn’t know you cared,” he sassed back, but gathered his stuff anyway. “I do have to be going, though. Ice bath and dinner and whatnot. Takes a lot of work to remain the stunning physical specimen this body is.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he gestured up and down his body. “The only thing that’s stunning about you is the size of your ego.”

“It’s okay to admit you like what you see,” he smirked as he brushed past you uncomfortably closely. “See you tomorrow, baby doll.” 

“I’m taking the weekend off.”

“Oooh, someone’s already cracking under the pressure. See you Monday, then.”

“Lucky me,” you said dryly. Lance replied by flashing you his middle finger as he exited the gym. You shook your head as you locked up, wondering how anyone could end up so arrogant as Lance Tucker.

\----------

As wonderful a break as the weekend you took off had been, a welcome rest while you finished out your rut, Monday brought a new onslaught of intensity with your training and the discovery that your uncle would be out of town for the week, leaving you to close up the gym daily.

You paused outside the door to the men’s locker room. It was earlier than you normally went in and there was still equipment to put away, but you were curious. Your uncle had been the one to originally warn you that you would have to kick Lance out when you were ready to close, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he really only stayed late for you.

As silently as you could, you cracked the door open and slipped in. You could hear muttering from the locker area on the other side of the showers, Lance’s voice low as he grumbled to no one about, well, something you couldn’t hear. It would seem he stayed late every day after all.

Before you could slip back out (because seriously, maybe he wasn’t dressed yet and built like a god or not, you didn’t want to catch him naked) his voice grew louder.

“Fucking patch,” he complained, “needing fucking changed while I’m at the fucking gym. Can’t even last a decent length of time.” In the sudden silence of his voice halting, you held your breath and heard the sound of a patch being ripped off, followed by the sound of a new box of patches being opened. In the time it took him to get his next patch on, however, you caught it.

Sweet smoke and light musk and damn it, was that jasmine? It was the most alluring scent you’d ever caught and you dug your nails into your palms to keep from letting out the growl that was trying to work its way up from your chest.

Lance Tucker was an omega, and he smelled fucking _good_.

You forced yourself out of the million filthy fantasies that had immediately sprung up in your mind as the muttering started again and used the sound as cover to slip back out. It took a few moments of deep breaths in the pheromone-free lobby to clear your head and calm your heart rate. That scent was going to stick in your memory for a long time.

A mental debate raged on as you put away the equipment that had been left out in the gym. You knew you shouldn’t tell him you knew; it should be his choice whether he told anyone his orientation or not. But how were you supposed to act like nothing had changed with his scent burned deeply into your mind? Even thinking about it was making heat snake through your core.

 _It’s still Lance_ , you reminded yourself when you finally had to make your way back to the locker room. _He’s still a jerk with an ego bigger than Texas. Nothing has changed._

 _Liar_ , your hindbrain replied.

You clenched your jaw and banged on the locker room door as you always did. “You’d better be decent, Tucker, because I’m coming in!”

“Why, Y/N,” Lance said, poking his head around the corner of the locker area, “to what do I owe this pleasure? It’s usually your uncle kicking me out on Mondays. Finally get tired of waiting and want an alpha to fuck you sideways?”

The snort that left you was decidedly unladylike. The balls on this guy, to so blatantly bluff like that, had you choking back laughter. You didn’t even have to reply to his suggestion; your face was enough to tell Lance that you found the idea hilarious.

“Apparently not,” he muttered, shooting you a glare that had you holding back another round of giggles. “So what is it?”

“Uncle’s out of town,” you replied, reigning in your amusement. “You’re stuck with me kicking you out all week, unless you want to turn over a new leaf and actually leave at a reasonable time like a normal person.”

“Never let it be said that Lance Tucker was normal,” he smirked, shooting you another one of his cocky smiles.

 _No one who smells that fucking amazing could be normal_ , your hindbrain inputted. What you actually said, though, was, “Let a girl have her fantasies.”

Well, that was a mistake. Bag slung over his shoulder and hands in his tracksuit pockets, Lance came right up to you and stood scarcely inches away, his breath and yours mingling.

“You can fantasize about me all you want, baby doll,” he said, the corners of his mouth ticking up at your wide eyes.

 _Decent impression of an alpha growl_ , your helpful inner monologue kicked in. _Wonder how long he practiced that_. Your hindbrain was too busy trying to catch a whiff of his scent again to react – fucking patches – and it took all your willpower to not growl back and go full alpha on his fine omega ass.

“Careful what you wish for.” 

You hadn’t meant to growl back, really you hadn’t. At least your hands were still by your sides instead of, well, anywhere on him. Surprise flashed briefly across his face before the signature Tucker smirk returned.

“What do you know, little omega has practiced her alpha growl. Not bad.”

 _Better than yours, **omega**_ , you bit back. Damn, this was even harder than you were expecting.

“Get out, Tucker, before I throw you out on your ass.”

“Whatever you say, baby doll.” With a wink and a final smirk, he sauntered past you and out of the locker room.

Well. That probably could have gone worse. Forgetting about locking up for the moment, you went over to the sink and splashed some cold water on your face.

Training around Tucker had definitely just gotten even harder.


	2. Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's secret is out...and so is yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been out a week ago, but I managed to lose a big portion of it and had to re-write it.

Life threw you curveballs; you’d learned that the hard way when your dad died three years ago. Things never worked out how you planned, and the best way to work around that was to plan loosely and have a backup option in place.

Take your gymnastics career for example. You wanted to make the Olympics so badly you could practically hear the crowd every time you closed your eyes. But nothing is promised to you; what if you had an injury, or hell, even an off day during an important competition? You could train hard and become the best you could be, but there would always be factors out of your control.

Then there were those curveballs life threw that you couldn’t possible foresee. Those ones were a lot harder to deal with. Things like, say, Lance Tucker being an omega.

The thought he could be an omega had never crossed your mind. Male omegas were rare, almost as rare as female alphas, and being one of the latter you’d never expected to run across the former. Wasn’t it statistically impossible? Well, it had to be highly improbably at least.

Every other omega you knew (that you knew was an omega, anyway) was sweet and kind and almost irritatingly selfless, nothing like the annoying, egotistical gymnast who seemed to make it his life goal to belittle everyone around him.

Stereotypes strike again. You really should know better by now.

Tucker’s scent kept showing up in your dreams that night, followed by the omega himself. It was by far the most inappropriate dream you’d ever had about another human and your enjoyment of it was dampened by the fact that it was Tucker of all people you were dreaming about. You’d spent over a year refusing to give him any importance in your life, and yet one whiff and you were hooked. Keeping your new crush a secret was going to be torture, especially since you had to kick him out of the gym every evening this week, and that was his prime flirting time.

All your worrying came to nothing, however, when you showed up at the gym Tuesday with Lance Tucker nowhere to be found. A quick inquiry revealed he had called out sick and wasn’t expected back until Friday.

 _Bullshit_ , you thought, _no germ would dare go near THE Lance Tucker_.

You weren’t sure what was worse: being around Lance while knowing what he smelled like or not being able to be around him. No matter how hard you tried to pay attention to your practice, your coach had to call you out several times for your lack of focus. If this kept up you’d get hurt for sure.

By the end of the day Thursday, you’d gotten most of your focus back - then Friday happened. Turns out, having Tucker around was way easier, which was a thing you’d never expected to be able to say. You were going to blame that on biology. Alpha needs to know the omega is okay or some such bullshit. Just knowing he was in the gym, even with his snide comments and obnoxious attitude, kept you settled and let your mind focus on what you were doing. You spent the first ten minutes analyzing how he looked – tired and more irritated than normal – before deciding he’d be okay and focusing on your work better than you had all week.

When practice was over you made yourself take your time in the locker room and putting away the equipment. If you showed up too early to kick out your straggler, it might look suspicious. That didn’t keep you from looking forward to what had once been the worst part of your Fridays, though.

Man, you really needed to get your head on straight. This was ridiculous.

“I’m coming in, Tucker!”

“What,” Lance grinned as he slipped on his jacket, “no more requests for me to not be naked? Is the ice queen finally starting to melt?”

“The ice queen doesn’t have time for your bullshit,” you shot back. Damn, you were such a liar. By this point you were living for his bullshit. “You done?”

“With you? Never.” He stuffed the last of his gear in his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. “I am, however, done with this building for the day. See you tomorrow?”

Your brain short-circuited as he brushed against you on his way out the door. Lance noticed your lack of a comeback and glanced back over his shoulder, giving you his signature smirk.

“Well? You coming tomorrow or not, Y/L/N?”

“Yeah,” you managed to get out without growling. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

If you could think of something to say that would wipe the satisfied look off his face, you would say it. As it was, both words and thought escaped you as you watched Lance exit the gym and get into his car.

\----------

Saturday was much the same as Friday, and Sunday found you spending time with your mom, relaxing and getting in some female bonding time.

Monday, on the other hand, was when shit hit the fan.

You lived close enough to the gym that you usually walked instead of driving. That morning, you felt a little tighter than normal and were hoping the walk would help you loosen up before practice. That was when you saw it. Lance was still very present in your mind, so the photo of him on the front of the gossip magazine with the large headline “Olympic Hopeful Lance Tucker’s orientation revealed” caught your attention in a heartbeat.

You tried to keep calm as you bought the magazine. It wasn’t uncommon for gossip rags to “out” minor celebrities, but their proof was never solid enough to actually prove anything; it was usually only solid enough to keep them from getting sued.

Racing the rest of the way to the gym, you ducked into the locker room and flipped to the page the article was on. Your heart sank when you saw what they had written.

There was a picture of Lance as well as a picture of a man identified as a “heat helper” (the casual term for an alpha whose professional job was to help unbonded omegas through their heats) leaving the Tucker house. There was also an interview with the man, who swore that Lance was the one he had been employed to help. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what they’d paid him to break his secrecy, but it was unlikely many people would trust him ever again, so at least the bastard's job was over.

You stuffed the magazine into the back of your locker so no one would find it and slammed your fist against the metal. It should have been Lance’s choice to come out, but that choice had been ripped away from him. Maybe people wouldn’t believe it. Maybe they would assume the article was wrong.

But another thing you’d learned early on is that people love to believe the worst about others, and with the stereotypes and opinions about omegas many people held, that would include believing what the article said about Lance.

The article had you on-edge the entire practice, waiting for someone to make a snide comment to Lance. Tucker for his part seemed oblivious to the whole situation, acting as arrogant as ever and enjoying calling you out when you had a hard time focusing and bungled your routines.

You rushed through showering and getting dressed after practice, helping your uncle put away the left-out gear afterward. He seemed surprised when you asked to be the one to kick out Lance, but nodded and headed to his office to finish up some paperwork.

This was it. Lance needed to know what was going on before someone sprung it on him. Okay, technically you were about to spring it on him, but at least you were trying to help him prepare instead of cornering him to rip off his patch and scent him.

_Ooh, that sounds fun!_

_Shut up, hindbrain._

Seven minutes before you would normally kick Lance out, you pulled the magazine out of the depths of your locker and headed to the men’s locker room. With a deep breath, you banged on the door and slipped in. Lance wasn’t quite dressed yet, standing in the middle of the locker area shirtless, drying his hair with a towel.

“Someone’s impatient,” he smirked when he saw you come in. “Looking for something, Omega?”

Wordlessly, you handed him the magazine. He froze when he saw the cover and paled when he opened to the article. The two of you stood in silence as he read. When he finished, he sank down onto the locker-room bench, letting the magazine fall to the floor.

“I suppose you’re here to gloat?” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “Poor Lance Tucker, only an omega. It’s a wonder his parents even let him out of the house.”

“No!” Your outburst surprised him and his eyes shot up to yours. “Lance, I would never…I just thought you should know before someone makes a comment about it. I thought you should be prepared.”

“Like anyone can be prepared for the shitstorm that’s about to come my way,” he sighed. “I normally take suppressants, you know. I just missed the signs that it was coming until it was too late. I told my dad I could handle it, but he thought that coming off the suppressants required…help.”

“He was right,” you said softly, sitting next to him. “As distracting as it still is while on suppressants, coming off of them is worse, way worse. You could have been hurt.”

“It would have benn better than this!” Lance yelled, startling you. He picked up the magazine and hurled it at the wall, jumping up and starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “This could keep me from making the team, Y/N! No one thinks an omega would stand a chance at the Olympics! All my hard work will be for nothing once USAG confirms this. I won’t be able to compete anymore!”

“They can’t do that,” you insisted, standing up and pulling him around to face you. “They can’t legally do that. They can put shit in your way to make getting to the competitions harder, but they can’t legally keep you from competing. I’ve got pull with the trainers here; we’ll help. You’ll still make it, I swear.”

Lance buried his face in his hands and for the first time you saw his shoulders were shaking. He was terrified of what he had to lose, and his walls had been shattered. Your hindbrain screamed to comfort him, so you surprised him by pulling him into a hug.

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” you whispered, stroking a hand along the back of his neck. “You’re good, really good. The US Olympic team won’t let someone with your skill get away just because of some outdated orientation bullshit ideas.”

He sobbed into your chest for a few minutes before pulling away and wiping furiously at his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. It’s nice to have someone understand.”

You shrugged. “I do my best. And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry this happened. You should have had the choice of coming out if or when you wanted to.”

“Yeah, well, life fucks us over all the time, doesn’t it?” He finished getting dressed and slung his bag over his shoulder. “What are you gonna do with that?”

You looked down at the magazine, still lying crumpled on the floor. Reaching down, you picked it up and tossed it into the nearest trash can. “Cleaners will change the bags tonight. It won’t be here when everyone arrives in the morning.”

“Thanks,” he nodded. “I should really be getting home. My car’s out of commission for today and it’s not a short walk. I don’t want to be too late.”

The hair stood up on the back of your neck. “I’m going with you.”

Lance looked at you quizzically and scoffed. “Just because we had this bonding moment or whatever” ( _Mm, bonding with Lance…shut up, hindbrain!_ ) “doesn’t mean we’re friends. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Don’t think of me as a babysitter,” you quipped cheerfully, slinging your bag over your shoulder and following Lance outside. “Think of me as a bubble that discourages jerks who just read that article from talking to you. Besides, walking alone is never a good idea in a city even for a guy, especially if you have very far to go.”

“You walk alone every day.”

“Yes, for two whole blocks in a school zone. Now shut up, Tucker, and let me follow you.”

“Like you’d actually be able to help if anything happened,” he mumbled, but he did accept that he wasn’t going to get rid of you easily and start walking. You fell into an easy pace beside him and neither of you said anything for the first fifteen minutes. The silence was only broken when the metaphorical shit again hit the metaphorical fan.

“Well, well, look who we have here? Pretty boy omega Lance Tucker.”

You recognized the two boys from your high school, although you hadn’t seen them since summer let out. They weren’t your kind of crowd; two giant betas who were on the football team and were absolutely convinced they that made them the shit. It wasn’t uncommon for them to show up at school hungover and you were pretty sure the only reason they weren’t failing out was their coach talking to teachers to keep his first-string players on the team. Of course they would be the first ones to try to take advantage of Lance’s orientation being leaked.

“Back off, Brad,” you spit out as they positioned themselves uncomfortably closely in front of the two of you. “Go be a dick somewhere else. I’m sure there’s a bottle somewhere with your name on it that needs drinking.”

“Aw, little Y/N, coming to the rescue of her little omega gymnast friend,” Justin laughed, reaching out and shoving you back a few steps. “Get lost, we’re not here for you.”

“Yeah,” Brad added, “unless you want to be the next omega in line to get it.”

“I can handle myself, Y/N,” Lance mumbled in your ear.

But when Brad’s hand came out and grabbed Lance’s shoulder, you reacted before you could think. In less than a second you had shoved him off and were between them and Lance, letting out a low growl.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Justin scoffed, “Y/N fancies herself an alpha.”

Tucker didn’t deserve this shit and you couldn’t have resisted your need to protect him if you had wanted to. Reaching up to your neck, you ripped off your patch and let your hormones communicate your anger, your growl coming out in full force. You didn’t care about secrecy anymore.

“ _ **I said, back off.**_ ”

Douchebag and Douchebag 2 staggered back as the full weight of your scent hit them.

“Shit,” Justin squeaked out, before turning tail and running, Brad on his heels.

Looks like you were out now, too. You turned to check Lance over, make sure he was okay, and found him staring at you, eyes blown wide.

“ _Alpha?_ ”


End file.
